To Dream
by monsley
Summary: Another C/A from Carrot's point of view. What would happen if he had to live up to a promise he once made to Angua? It's a sad fic, I warn you.


A/N: This contains spoilers. I'm not too sure myself when does it take place. The only sure thing is that it's well over one year and a half after The Fifth Elephant, and also after my first Discworld fic, _Tonight — A Carrot/Angua vignette_, which is a piece of mindless fluff you don't need to read to understand this one.

Disclaimer: Angua, Carrot and anything you might recognize belongs to the mighty Terry Pratchett. Bow to him. Except one line which I think I've shamelessly stolen from Edgar Allan Poe's _Eleonora_, a couple of winks to Rozi which obviously belong to her, and two concepts which belong to the almighty Tin Mandigma.

**To Dream**

_Though they go mad,   
they shall be sane  
Though they sink through   
the sea, they shall rise again  
Though lovers be lost,  
love shall not  
And death shall have no dominion.   
  
_  
—Dylan Thomas, "And Death Shall Have No Dominion"

The old man picked up the chunk of wood that had fallen to the floor. He ran his fingers over it. It was a good one, not knotty at all. His hand then reached out towards the shelf by his side. His fingers closed around the handle of the silver carving knife. He sighed deeply and started to work.

  
***

  
It's strange how things change, isn't it? I would've never imagined I'd end up like this. Now, I know dwarves aren't exactly known for their imagination, but I did think about my future sometimes, like everybody. I had illusions. Goals to reach. Wishes to fulfill. A destiny.

Actually, I _didn't_ have a destiny. I hate that word and the concept behind it. My story wasn't written many centuries before my very birth by some god or other, whatever they might say on the subject. I wrote it myself as I lived on, with every choice I made. I made my life, I'm sure of that. I need to be sure of that or I'll go insane.

But I dreamt, of course I dreamt. I've been dreaming for as long as I can remember. At first, when I was at the mine with mom and dad, I dreamt of becoming the best miner in the world. I'd be the strongest, the biggest, the most intelligent dwarf, and I'd dig right to the other side of the Disc if necessary.

I eventually became the biggest, of course. Hereditary matters. But then I was sent off to the city, and my dreams changed. I lost interest in mining. I still felt it inside— I hadn't _stopped_ being a dwarf, after all— but I realized I was a human, too. And I wanted to be a copper. The best copper in the world. And so I worked non-stop to make Ankh-Morpork— which I realized felt like _my_ city, _my _place, much more than the mine had ever felt— a better place to live. Somewhere safer, where every kind of people could go on with their lives and works and raise their children like anybody else. I like to think I succeeded, to an extempt. I admit I was a bit tricky sometimes, but I meant no harm. I just wanted the best for the city.

My memories from that time are filled with this expression. _The best_. The best for the city, the best for the people, the best for me. Can't say why was I so obsessed.

But then came Angua. And my dream changed again. I forgot about being the best copper in the world. From that moment on, I could only dream of her.

Angua. My girl, though I never dared to call her that. She was, though. Clever, strong, defiant, and so afraid. So terribly, unbearably afraid. My love. My dream.

I don't know how or why I fell in love with her. But I did, and I did to a point she'd have never believed me able to reach. Neither would have I, for that matter. Why? Because of her eyes? Those piercing blue eyes, flecked with gold and amber, which could terrify any criminal and held a world of contradictions and doubt? The same that could be infinite tenderness or pure ice? Can't tell. But while my previous dreams— the mine, the city— had felt like little bits of me, pieces that filled certain parts of my soul, Angua wasn't like that. Angua was a whole. My everything. And once I met her, my life finally clicked into place.

  
***

  
The old man paused and breathed deeply. He left the knife on the table for a second and rubbed his weary eyes with his free hand. He had a strong headache, but he wouldn't stop. He took the knife again and resumed his task.

  
***

  
A few months after Mr Vimes' and Lady Sybil's baby was born— a little boy they called Harry and some other fifteen names— Angua and I moved in together. She didn't actually have to _move_ much, since we just rent a bigger room at Mrs Cake's, one that practically occupied the whole fourth floor. I'd have liked to go somewhere else, but Mrs Cake's was the best place for Angua during that time of the month. Besides, we had that unspoken pact since Uberwald— _together, no matter how_. So I agreed to the arrangement.

We started discussing names, kids' names, after a rather clumsy proposal from my part. Angua insisted she'd like to have a girl called Elsa, after her sister, and I said I wanted a boy called Rex. She laughed out loud when I told her, but said she was okay with it.

If I close my eyes now I can still hear her laughter, fluttering around me like the most beautiful of the melodies. I loved her when she laughed. Her eyes lit up from within, her smile became somehow more true, more real than usual, and she forgot what she thought herself to be: a monster. There was nothing monster-like about her laughter. It made me fly.

The night that marked the end of our tale begun like any other. It was pouring heavily, and a cold breeze blew through the streets. We were proceeding down Short street when we heard a strange noise from a narrow alleyway. We looked at each other for a split second and entered.

A gang of men, carrying sticks and swords, surrounded a girl lying on the floor. Her clothes were torn and muddy, and she seemed to have been beaten. She was inconscious, and they were advancing on her with a clear intention. No guild licence in the world justified _this_.

I straightened out and called, in a loud voice, "Hello! I say! What are you doing, gentlemen?" I knew perfectly well what they were doing. I'm simple, not stupid. But things have to be made properly.

They narrowed their eyes at me. "Get away from here, copper, if you know what's good for you." said one, apparently the leader. "We have something to settle with the little bitch here."

I didn't let his tone, his intentions or his threat make my smile falter. It's so much more useful when it seems to have been painted on. One or two shuffled nervously. "I'll have to ask you to leave this girl alone and then accompany me to Pseudopolis Yard. You are under arrest on the charge of agression—"

"Guys, kill the idiot. He's getting on my nerves." cut me the leader. A second later they'd all jumped on me. I ducked and dodged most of their swings— I _am_ a skilled swordsman, after all—, but they weren't half bad, and kept me off balance enough for me not to be able to charge back. I screamed in pain when one of them stabbed me through my leg. I tried to clear my vision, which had suddenly blurred as nausea crept over me, all the while defending myself against the thugs that didn't seem to stop coming, when a golden shape fell hard on the one who'd injured me. I started fighting on automatic, the pain on my leg slowing me down, the heavy rain making it even more difficult to see, when I suddenly heard Angua crying out. 

"Behind you!" she shouted. I spun around and knocked out the one behind me hitting him with the flat blade. I turned around again in a split second, a terrible feeling of dread spreading over me— Angua had cried out, which meant she was human again, and _she didn't have her sword_.

From that moment on, my memories are still-captures. I remember Angua's relieved face. The sneer on the face of the leader guy behind her. The heavy metallic bat slamming onto the side of her head. Her graceful falling, like a ballerina.

Since that day I've been able to understand Mr Vimes and his getting unwound all at once, as Lady Sybil puts it. I could've killed the man with my bare hands. The pain had dulled my senses. I couldn't think, I just felt. And I felt I wanted him dead.

That is the day I've been closer to becoming a murderer. And Angua saved me. As always. As I punched the man over and over, even after he'd left consciousness, I felt rather than heard a soft moan. A single thought registered. _Angua_. I suddenly jerked out of my trance, stared in horror at the brutality I'd commited, and shut my eyes at the sight. It wasn't important, now. I'd deal with it later.

I kneeled by her side, taking her in my arms, and rang the watchman's bell we always carried as hard as I could. I didn't dare move her anymore, so I just stayed there, soaking wet, cradling her close. After a while Detritus, Cheery, Mr Vimes and some others arrived. They took her, the other girl and me to the Yard, all lying in stretchers. The men were arrested.

Next morning, when I woke up, Cheery and Igor were by my bedside. "How are you, Captain Carrot?" she asked.

"My leg hurts a bit, but that's it." I looked at my injury, which was already a fading scar. "Thank you."

"It's okay, thur. You were lucky there, though. A centimeter to the left and your arteria would've been severed, and not even I can repair something like that." Igor said.

I suddenly remembered. "How is Angua?" I asked anxiously.

Cheery looked downcast. "She's still unconscious, sir. She's in the next room."

I shot out of my bed and entered the other room. Angua laid there, pale and beautiful under the white covers, her blonde hair spread over the pillow. I sat by her side, taking her hand.

"She'll be alright, sir." said Cheery, who'd come after me. "It wasn't silver nor fire. She's just had a concussion. She needs to rest for a while." She put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. And Mr Vimes says you're both off duty until next monday."

I nodded blankly at her. I knew she was right, but I wouldn't leave her bedside. Just in case.

  
***

  
The old man squinted, concentrating on the knive's progress through the wood. He wanted every detail to be perfect. It _had_ to be perfect. He blew some sawdust off the figure and followed its course through the air. Most of it fell to the floor, but the lighter particles stayed suspended in mid-air, shining white on the sun rays entering through the half-open window. An old legend said every speck of dust the sunlight illuminated was a tiny little world, maybe even an universe. If it were true, he reflected, he'd just created a few hundred of them. Maybe in one of them things had been different. He kept working.

  
***

  
I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up the room was covered in that greyish pre-dawn light. Angua had stirred, waking me. I caught her hand with mine again and caressed it until her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the ceiling for a second, blinking repeatedly, and then looked at me. Her gaze softened, and she half-smiled at me. "Carrot"

I sighed in relief. "You had me worried there, you know."

She laughed, the musical sound erasing any bad feelings and making the room much brighter than the weak light would ever be able to make it. She laughed, and I kept dreaming.

I didn't notice anything wrong at first. Nobody did. I guess every crisis starts like this, with small unnoticeable things. One always realises too late. But the following months were peaceful and happy, maybe the happiest we'd ever lived. There were no major breakdowns of law and order, or, as Mr Vimes put it, "no crazed out bastards who suddenly decide winter wouldn't come if we had a King". He and Lady Sybil were the proudest parents I'd ever seen, and for our part Angua and I were settling more and more into our cosy apartment. It felt like home.

I guess I should've seen it coming, I should've realised something was wrong at the very beginning, when she started to Change unwillingly even when it wasn't the full moon. I would wake up and reach blindly for her, wanting to hold her and kiss her awake, and my fingers would find silky fur. I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time this happened, but she assured me it wasn't anything to worry about. Should have read her better. Should have seen she was lying. Even though I doubt I could've done anything.

In everything else she appeared to be the same as ever. Self-collected, tough Angua. Always wearing her carefully-crafted mask. But, very slowly, she started drifting away from me. She wouldn't let that mask down when we were alone. And that hurt. That hurt more than anything else. I didn't know what to do, how to make her laugh again. Because she wouldn't laugh anymore, either. Something was stealing Angua away from me and I couldn't do a thing. That's a hard blow for somebody who doesn't believe in the no-win scenario.

One dusk I woke up first, as usual, and my arms unthinkingly reached out to hold her. But this time they didn't just meet fur. I barely had time to jerk away before the growling, angry wolf sprang onto my chest and scratched me with her claws. A second later she'd Changed again and was staring at me, horror-struck. I touched the gash on my chest. It wasn't deep, but was bleeding considerably. Angua sat on the furthest corner of the bed and started crying convulsively, hysterical sobs racking her body. I wiped the blood away with a tissue and went to sit by her side. She didn't even notice me until I put my arm on her shoulders, trying to pull her close. Then she shrieked and jumped away from me.

"Don't, Carrot." she said, looking at me for the first time. Her beautiful eyes, I suddenly noticed, weren't the pools of amber-flecked blue I'd learnt to know anymore. The outer side of the iris still was that shimmering blue, but all around the pupil it'd turned into gold. "It's happening, can't you see?"

I swallowed. No matter what colour her eyes were, I couldn't bear the sadness in them. I tried to get closer to her again, but she backed away. "Angua, please." I pleaded to her.

"No! Can't you understand it? I'll hurt you! I will end up hurting you! And I don't want to, I can't bear thinking about it, I don't want to, I don't want to!" she said, burying her face in her hands. I stood in front of her and caught her by her shoulders. She tried to slid out of my grasp, but I wouldn't let her. I'd had enough.

"Now listen to me, Angua! Listen!" I held her chin up with one hand, forcing her to look at me through her tears. "I made a promise to you! Remember? At Gavin's burial? Remember? I promised you it'd be me!" She'd finally stopped struggling, so I let her go. She stared at me as I kneeled in front of her, taking her small face in my hands, unvoluntarily replaying the scene when I'd asked her if she'd want to have my baby someday. Only this time the roles were reversed. I brushed her tears away with my thumbs. "And it'll be me, Angua. I'll be the one. And that means I won't ever leave you. You will never be alone again. Okay?"

After what seemed an eternity, she nodded, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. She reached out to me and I leaned onto her embrace, pulling her as close as I could. We made love for the last time, kissing madly, desperately, holding each other tight. I gave my soul to her that night.

At dawn we left Ankh-Morpork, never to come back again. We didn't say goodbye to anyone. They'd have tried to stop us, we knew. And leaving hurt enough as it was.

We didn't have any concrete destination. The only rule was to avoid populated areas. Angua's condition worsened slowly but without stop. She didn't seem to be losing her mind, as she recognized me, but physically she had more and more difficulty in controlling her shapes. She'd change without previous warning from one to the other, which hurt her more than she'd ever admit. I helped her as much as I could, even though she kept pushing me away, scared of the day when she wouldn't be able to control her instincts. But I had my ways. I'd wait until she'd fallen asleep, whatever the shape she was in, and then hold her close until morning came. I'd realised she didn't seem to have so many nightmares that way. Because if not she'd start screaming, or howling, and I hadn't yet been able to wake her up when she was asleep. Only once she told me what were her nightmares about. She dreamt she ripped me to shreds and enjoyed every moment of it.

Eventually we reached the mountains. It was late autumn, almost winter. We didn't care. At least, I didn't care. Angua didn't speak anymore. The distinction between her shapes blurred more and more everyday, and she wouldn't speak. I don't know if she was still able to. She just looked at me with those eyes, those maddeningly beautiful eyes, with such a calm sadness that my heart broke every time I saw them. But once— just once— I think I felt the pressure of her lips on mine before waking up and seeing her asleep in my arms.

  
***

  
The old man decided to rest for a little while before continuing. He was about to carve out the most important part of the figure: the faces. He clenched and unclenched his fists, tanned and powerful even though his skin was wrinkly, and ran his hands through the little hair he had left. It gleamed as white as the snow outside in the sunlight.

  
***

  
One day I woke up to find her gone. I got out of our makeshift hut to find the mountain covered in the first snow of the year, some good fifteen centimeters of it. I called out for her, looking around desperately for any sign of her. I saw footprints leading away into the forest and followed them, a grim feeling spreading throughout my body. The footprints weren't regular: they showed now a foot, now a paw, now a hand. But I wouldn't admit to myself just yet what had happened. As so often I'd done before I blocked out any thoughts, any feelings that would interfere in my tracing of Angua. My hand automatically reached for my sword, but I forced myself not to take it.

After a short time I reached a clearing surrounded by pine trees. The image seemed unworldly; the dark green of the pine trees contrasted against the white of the snow, which gleamed so bright it hurt my eyes. And crouched on the middle of the clearing was Angua. She slowly turned to look at me, her pale naked skin bathed in sunlight. That instant I knew she was gone forever. Wolf ears stuck out between her long blond hair, which now also covered her spine until the small of her back, where her tail stuck out. Her arms were human-like from the shoulder to the elbows, from where wolf paws grew, and the same happened to her legs. She saw me and smiled, a horrible twist of the smile I loved, done with Angua's lips and the wolf's teeth. I knew what I had to do.

Still smiling, she slowly walked towards me, her crazed stare never leaving my eyes. I didn't move. A second later she sprang, knocking me over while she let out a sound that sounded halfway between a growl and a laugh, pining me to the floor. She stayed like that for a moment, looking curiously at me with that deranged face, but as she bared her teeth to tear my jugular out my left hand shot out and seized her throat. She struggled to break free, but I caught the silver knive I carried since we'd left Ankh-Morpork and buried it in her chest up to the handle.

She stayed still for a second, looking shocked, before collapsing to her side. I got up to my knees and crawled towards her. Her breathing was slowing down rapidly. I gathered her onto my arms and saw her fangs, paws and fur were gone. There was only Angua, my beautiful Angua, looking at me with her now real smiling amber-flecked blue eyes. She reached out to cup my cheek with her hand and mouthed 'I love you'. I realised I was crying, and I didn't want to, I didn't want her last image to be of me crying. So I forced a smile through my tears and said "I love you too." And she closed those eyes forever.

  
***

  
The old man took the figure in his hands. It was finished. He traced his fingers over every carving, examining them, judging them, as the decades spent on the snowy mountains enduring the glare of the sun on the snow had made him almost blind and he trusted his fingers more than his eyes. Once he'd finished, he stood up. He was satisfied. The figure was perfect. He slowly made his way through the tiny cottage until he reached the little hall of entrance. He opened a cupboard and carefully put the figure inside. The cupboard was already bursting full of them, and they all represented the same. A young, long-haired woman walking beside a tall man, hand in hand. The old man opened the entrance door and stepped onto the clearing where his cottage sat. He brushed a tear away from his dying eyes, smiled sadly and entered the house again. At least the wooden figures would walk together forever.

A/N (2): Oh my god. I can't believe I wrote something this sad. I was just wondering about that promise, and the possibility that Angua suffered the same fate as Wolfgang And now I'm so sad about them I need another chapter of Rozi's _Bad Influence_ to cheer me up! hint hint

Anyway. This story was inspired by Tin Mandigma's _A Farewell to Innocence_, the saddest and most beautiful Rurouni Kenshin fic ever. If you're a RK fan, go read it. It's simply perfect. The idea of the concussion and the running away is directly taken from there, but everything else is mine. It'd be quite difficult to plagiarize that story, considering everything is only appliable to RK characters

What else there are a couple of winks to Rozi's _Bad Influence_, which you _must_ have spotted (please, it wasn't as if they were _hidden_ or something! ;)), and I seriously suspect I took a line almost literally from Edgar Allan Poe's _Eleonora_. Ah, can't be original in everything. ^^;;

Once again: Please, please comment, wether you liked it or found it crappy. Tell me the reasons behind your opinion. I can always improve! Thank you very, very, very much. And please tell me also if I've made any spelling/grammar mistakes!

And finally I'd like to thank the wonderful people who've reviewed my other Discworld fic, _Tonight—A Carrot/Angua vignette_:

—Jo Bendle: Thank you! My very first review! And you were so sweet about it. :) Would you teach me the funky little shipper dance? I wanted to say I'm not too sure of my characterisation of Carrot myself, because as you say PTerry never lets us know what he's thinking, but as you see I've dived headfirst into another Carrot-POV story I will never learn.

—Twist: Well does this qualify as starting the ball rolling? ;) Thank you for your review!

—Rozi: I laughed my head off with your review! C'mon, get out of that hole :) Forgive me for using Harry in this Well, forgive me in general for the depressing fic. Thank you very much for reviewing my other fic (and complimenting the fanart I sent you!)

—carrot fan: Thanks for your nice comments! I hope you've liked this other Carrot story, too

—Elinor: Woah, your compliment on how I got into Carrot's head really made me happy, as I'm not too sure where I'm standing with the man Thank you very, very much.

—Dahlia: I love Vimes and the Librarian too! I'm just starting to read the Witches series, so I don't really have an oppinion on Granny and Nanny yet you can't imagine how _difficult_ it's been to find PTerry books in Spain! I was going crazy from rereading the old british copies of _The Colour of Magic, The Light Fantastic, Sourcery, Equal Rites, Moving Pictures _and _Men at Arms_ when I found this gorgeous little all-british Library where they had Pratchett I'm reading _Witches Abroad_ right now. And you're right, that bit is from _Men at Arms_— and it's gorgeous too. The thing about Carrot and Angua's relationship is that it is incredibly touching without being sentimental, something which I repeatedly fail to portray. Oh well. Anyway: thank you very much for your detailed review! :)

—SilentStep: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you think my characterisation was accurate (mostly because that's my worst fear, along with excessive mushiness). But what do you mean when you say you jealously guard West Side Story? Sorry, didn't understand :( Stupid Meg.

—Ami: Thank you for your enthusiastic review!

Thanks to all of you again. You guys really made my day.


End file.
